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- Гюстав Флобер
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- Госпожа Бовари
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"
Why
do
n't
you
tell
master
?
"
the
servant
asked
her
when
she
came
in
during
these
crises
.
"
It
is
the
nerves
,
"
said
Emma
.
"
Do
not
speak
to
him
of
it
;
it
would
worry
him
"
"
Ah
!
yes
,
"
Felicite
went
on
,
"
you
are
just
like
La
Guerine
,
Pere
Guerin
's
daughter
,
the
fisherman
at
Pollet
,
that
I
used
to
know
at
Dieppe
before
I
came
to
you
.
She
was
so
sad
,
so
sad
,
to
see
her
standing
upright
on
the
threshold
of
her
house
,
she
seemed
to
you
like
a
winding-sheet
spread
out
before
the
door
.
Her
illness
,
it
appears
,
was
a
kind
of
fog
that
she
had
in
her
head
,
and
the
doctors
could
not
do
anything
,
nor
the
priest
either
.
When
she
was
taken
too
bad
she
went
off
quite
alone
to
the
sea-shore
,
so
that
the
customs
officer
,
going
his
rounds
,
often
found
her
lying
flat
on
her
face
,
crying
on
the
shingle
.
Then
,
after
her
marriage
,
it
went
off
,
they
say
.
"
"
But
with
me
,
"
replied
Emma
,
"
it
was
after
marriage
that
it
began
.
"
One
evening
when
the
window
was
open
,
and
she
,
sitting
by
it
,
had
been
watching
Lestiboudois
,
the
beadle
,
trimming
the
box
,
she
suddenly
heard
the
Angelus
ringing
.
It
was
the
beginning
of
April
,
when
the
primroses
are
in
bloom
,
and
a
warm
wind
blows
over
the
flower-beds
newly
turned
,
and
the
gardens
,
like
women
,
seem
to
be
getting
ready
for
the
summer
fetes
.
Through
the
bars
of
the
arbour
and
away
beyond
,
the
river
seen
in
the
fields
,
meandering
through
the
grass
in
wandering
curves
.
The
evening
vapours
rose
between
the
leafless
poplars
,
touching
their
outlines
with
a
violet
tint
,
paler
and
more
transparent
than
a
subtle
gauze
caught
athwart
their
branches
.
In
the
distance
cattle
moved
about
;
neither
their
steps
nor
their
lowing
could
be
heard
;
and
the
bell
,
still
ringing
through
the
air
,
kept
up
its
peaceful
lamentation
.
With
this
repeated
tinkling
the
thoughts
of
the
young
woman
lost
themselves
in
old
memories
of
her
youth
and
school-days
.
She
remembered
the
great
candlesticks
that
rose
above
the
vases
full
of
flowers
on
the
altar
,
and
the
tabernacle
with
its
small
columns
.
She
would
have
liked
to
be
once
more
lost
in
the
long
line
of
white
veils
,
marked
off
here
and
there
by
the
stuff
black
hoods
of
the
good
sisters
bending
over
their
prie-Dieu
.
At
mass
on
Sundays
,
when
she
looked
up
,
she
saw
the
gentle
face
of
the
Virgin
amid
the
blue
smoke
of
the
rising
incense
.
Then
she
was
moved
;
she
felt
herself
weak
and
quite
deserted
,
like
the
down
of
a
bird
whirled
by
the
tempest
,
and
it
was
unconsciously
that
she
went
towards
the
church
,
included
to
no
matter
what
devotions
,
so
that
her
soul
was
absorbed
and
all
existence
lost
in
it
.
On
the
Place
she
met
Lestivoudois
on
his
way
back
,
for
,
in
order
not
to
shorten
his
day
's
labour
,
he
preferred
interrupting
his
work
,
then
beginning
it
again
,
so
that
he
rang
the
Angelus
to
suit
his
own
convenience
.
Besides
,
the
ringing
over
a
little
earlier
warned
the
lads
of
catechism
hour
.
Already
a
few
who
had
arrived
were
playing
marbles
on
the
stones
of
the
cemetery
.
Others
,
astride
the
wall
,
swung
their
legs
,
kicking
with
their
clogs
the
large
nettles
growing
between
the
little
enclosure
and
the
newest
graves
.
This
was
the
only
green
spot
.
All
the
rest
was
but
stones
,
always
covered
with
a
fine
powder
,
despite
the
vestry-broom
.
